


You're A Fine Girl

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking & Talking, F/F, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Just girls being girls, mandalorians have no chill, neither do Nightsisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: A chance encounter between two kindred spirits in a Nal Hutta bar during the time of the Empire that might lead to something more.





	You're A Fine Girl

**Author's Note:**

> First ever F/F fic! Whoo!
> 
> Honestly, this pairing has been on my mind for some time - I mostly just wanted to write these two tough ladies shooting the shit between contracts, and tbh damn whatever happened in Dark Disciple - as far as I’m concerned Asajj is still out there during the Imperial era taking bounties and enjoying herself.
> 
> And yes, the title is from Looking Glass’s “Brandy“. I have no inspiration for titles.

The rest of the bar's early-evening patrons barely look up as the door slides open, though some grumble as the open door admits a blast of midsummer heat and the stench of jungle rot into the cool, dark space. Asajj, however, has a perfect view from her perch at the bar, and takes their measure with one eye on the newcomers and the other on the datapad in her hand.

Mandalorian women - not an unusual sight in a Nal Hutta sin-pit town on any day, but something about this bunch makes Asajj take a second look.

They proceed to seat themselves at a tiny table exactly between the door - none of them facing it with their backs - and the one window big enough to smash and jump out of if the need should arise. Their armour is heavily used, but obviously well-crafted, the silvery bare beskar visible through scuffs in the blue and black paint. Most of them bear a circular mark like a stylized convoree's head on their shoulder plates or visors - some kind of clan symbol, but none that Asajj knows. All the same, they're definitely a tight-knit bunch - not like the usual loose groups of young bounty hunters who usually circulate here. Clearly long-aquainted with each other, clearly professionals, and clearly dangerous. She fingers the lightsabers at her side.

They've only just removed their helmets and started to settle, when one of them gets up and saunters to the bar. She orders six pints of black beer in odd, neutrally-accented Huttese, slapping the credits down on the bar top with a gauntleted hand and paying no mind to the barkeep's grumbling about 'scratching the counter'. She leans forwards against it while he struggles with the ancient beer-tap, propping her leg up on the stool next to her.

Asajj casts a sidelong glance towards her from the corner of her eyes, keeping the data pad up, meaning secretly to size up the potential rival. She quickly assess the stranger's vital points - a woman in early middle-age, slim, average height, red-hair held back with an odd steel headband - and very obviously armed to the teeth, carrying the ozone-tinged scent of blasterfire around her.

Her concentration is broken, however, by the Trandoshan barkeep swearing as he kicks the gurgling tank behind the tap, before telling the Mando that he's going to have to get a new barrel from the basement.

"Fierfek, how long are you gonna keep me and mine waitin' for the karkin' gal? Get your scaly shebs movin' then or my credits go elsewhere!" the woman growls, and the tone in that voice - authoritative, moulded to giving orders - stirs something in Asajj. She blinks.

Damn, but it's been a while since she felt THAT. And with so little warning - not since Quinlan, may the Force rest his spirit.

As the newcomer resumes her wait, Asajj finds she can't look away now, even though its clear she's not after her or that she's even noticed that she's being watched. But Asajj keeps her eye on her, and notices more than would be relevant to most missions.

How the Mandalorian's jumpsuit fits her incredibly well, showing off her slender figure but also not hiding its power, biceps and strong thighs obvious even under the layers of ironweave and armour plating. How the short cut of her vividly red hair only emphasizes the long, elegant neck underneath, hidden by the high collar of the suit. How her back curves elegantly away from where she leans on the bar, and how her pose, intentionally or not, emphasizes the subtle and firm-looking curve of her ass. It makes Asajj feel a little warm, despite the AC in the bar is on full blast to counter the humid swampiness of the outdoors.

She shakes her head, and re-focuses on the stranger's face in profile instead. And nearly gasps out loud - because the Mandalorian is now looking right back into her eyes.

The woman's eyes are *green*, startlingly so. And the rest of her face is frankly gorgeous - ivory skin dusted with freckles, full lips and high cheekbones, adorned finally with two pale scars arcing across her forehead and one cheek, that somehow only add to her looks rather than diminishing them.

Asajj swallows, unconsciously pressing her thighs together under the bar. Shiiit.

Not knowing what the hell else to do, Asajj winks at her and bares her teeth in an attempt at a flirtatious look, but the woman's expression remains unreadable, and beats a rather leisurely retreat back to her table with the pints in hand.

She huffs a little - that could have gone worse, but it could have gone much better too. She mentally thanks whatever gods watch over wayward Sisters that her kind do not blush when embarrassed. A few more minutes pass, or maybe an hour does, as Asajj loses herself in scrolling Taris' most wanted postings on her data pad.

"Hey, Witch," the rough Trandoshan barkeep grunts at her, interrupting her reading of the price on the head of some pirate lord or other. She looks put to see him hefting a tray covered in brightly coloured shot glasses.

"Thessse are for you."

"Quit trying to pawn off orders on me, Rassk," Asajj snarls, pushing the plastoid tray back into his chest.

"You aren't getting a single credit for drinks I didn't order."

"You ain't payin' for em anywaysss - they're courtesy of the Mandos back there," he hisses over his shoulder after he dumps the tray in front of her.

Asajj looks across the bar to the women, who are all chattering to each other in Mando'a and don't seem to be looking at her at all. That is, save for the redhead, who is watching her intently through her lashes, face as unreadable as if she was still wearing her visor.

Asajj first fishes the toxin-analyzer out of a pouch on her belt, and proceeds to dip the sensor into each shot. The indicator light shows up green for all, and she can't suppress a smirk. She glances back towards the Mando just as she sets her pint down, licking a sliver of creamy foam off her full bottom lip.

Oh. So that's how its gonna be.

Well fine, its been a while since she got to play this game.

Asajj raises the shot with a wink, and drains it, making sure redhead can see the pale column of her throat, lit by the glow of the bar's fluro-lights. The liquor isn't bad for outer-rim swill, tasting faintly of jogan fruits after the burn subsides, and she licks her lips as much for the aftertaste as to show off to the generous stranger.

The redhead flat-out grins, those green eyes shining even in the dim light of the bar. She turns to her companions, and at some unreadable signal from her they disperse, helmets and pints in hand. Asajj knows that they haven't left the room, that they've simply formed a perimeter in case their leader needs their assistance. Questionable thoughts on what form that assistance might take are interrupted as he redhead sits down next to her, setting her battered blue helmet down with a thump on the bar top and leaning on one arm while she reaches for a shot on the tray, casual as anything. There's no pretension or performance at all in the woman's actions, and somehow that's even more of a turn-on.

Dammit Asajj, get a grip on yourself.

"Scanned the tray for toxins before you knocked the first one back. Very professional," she says in that matter-of-fact commander's voice, swirling a neon blue shot of something-or-other before setting it down again. 

"I've been in this game long enough to know better than to blindly accept drinks from flirty strangers."

"Who says I'm flirting?"

"You're as subtle as a spooked rancor on glitterstim, even for a Mandalorian."

The stranger laughs, high and breathy, her head thrown back to give Asajj a glimpse of the pale, bite-able looking neck under the collar of her flight suit, and it does *things* to Asajj's insides that she...actually kinda likes.

"I'm Bo-Katan," she offers her hand, and Asajj clasps her arm in return greeting.

"So," Bo-Katan - as she is apparently named - continues, as she sidles up a little closer to her at the bar, "now that I'm no longer a stranger, how about you even the score and make yourself less of a stranger to me?"

"Asajj."

"Well, I'm amazed to see the likes of you so far from home, Asajj - but it's not an unwelcome sight, believe me." She gives her a questioning look, and Bo-Katan gestures to the weapon on her back.

"That's the tip-off. I always thought Sisters didn't like to leave Dathomir, and never would if they could avoid it."

Asajj glances backwards to her energy bow, the one obvious legacy left from her home world that she never really could part with. Still, the memory of her old world makes something in her chest ache, and she glares a little at Bo-Katan from under her silver bangs.

"Let's just say I didn't leave willingly. What about you, then - I thought you Mandalorians were all too busy worshipping at the altar of Gar Saxon's beskar fisted-might."

"As if," Bo-Katan spits at the floor, as if the very thought of the man filled her mouth with bitterness.

"I wouldn't lick that chakaar's boots if they were drizzled with uj'alaya. And i've got it on good authority that there's plenty of Mando'ade who agree with me - Mandalore has known men who were ten times the ruler that Saxon claims to be, and didn't need an emperor to back them up."

Bo-Katan's eyes fairly blaze with rage, and she grabs one of the shots off the tray and knocks it back, angrily. Briefly calmed, her gaze flickers from her face to the twin lightsabers at Asajj's belt. One thin red eyebrow quirks up.

"How'd you come across those sabers, then - you a dar'jettii?"

Asajj remembers enough of the Count's tutelage to know the foreign word's meaning. She shakes her head, before downing another shot.

"Used to be one," she mutters into the rim of her now-empty shot glass, "I found the whole thing a bit more hazardous to my health than I had anticipated."

Bo-Katan snorts.

"Good job on kicking the habit. I've had my fill of dark-side chakaaryk for a lifetime - I never thought much of Jedi, and thought even less of the likes of the others."

Asajj casts her a questioning look. For all that mercenary types like them don't discuss their past as a rule, she's really rather curious. And a little impressed.

"You have fought…Inquisitors?"

Why those Sith pretenders would bother with a Mandalorian hired gun - a very pretty hired gun and evidently a capable one - but still far off from their usual quarry to make her wonder just what Bo-Katan has done in her past life. It is clear this woman is hiding bigger secrets than most in their business.

"Them and more. Not to brag, but I've thrown down what you wouldn't believe, Sister. Ever hear of a little bar-brawl called the Siege of Mandalore? Or maybe the Neutral System Raids, the Concordia Emergency, the Assault of Sundari?" she asks, gesturing with an empty glass.

"I was there, right front and centre," she sighs, "I lost a lot of good verda to all that osik'la business - and others, besides."

Those green eyes start going a little misty, and her voice becomes thick. Asajj only notices now the tiny jaig'alaar symbol painted in gold on one of Bo-Katan's gauntlets, and she brushes it in a fond gesture with her other hand. If Asajj wasn't a good enough reader of character to know that this whole thing wasn't some ploy to generate enough sympathy for a pity-fuck, that would've convinced her otherwise - and anyways, its not really a Mandalorian's style.

Feeling daring, Asajj reaches out and brushes the back of her hand along Bo-Katan's arm, comfortingly. The Mando turns her eyes on her, and oh, Asajj doesn't need to tap into the Force to sense the loss contained in them.

"I know this pain well too, you know," she says, quietly, not breaking her gaze.

"You know how it is to have lost people too, huh?"

"Wish I didn't, but I do," Asajj sighs heavily, leaning over the bar with her eyes downcast.

"If you want the truth, I could return to Dathomir, but for me, there's no Dathomir to return to. That's just life, sometimes - you think you'll get the galaxy on a chain, and instead you lose more than you ever thought was possible to."

"Damn right," Bo-katan answers, reaching for the last shot on the tray and finishing it with a resolute thump of the glass on the bar, before turning back to Asajj.

"But let's not spoil the evening already with talk of mutual tragedy," the sadness vanishes from her face and voice, replaced with a mischievous look and a gleam in her eyes. Asajj somehow feels her own usually dark mood lifting just looking at her.

"I came here to have fun after work. And I'll cut right to it - you're a gorgeous woman that I'd like to entertain for a while, and I think you already decided on an answer to such a proposition the moment I sat down here," she daringly reaches out to rest an arm over her shoulder, thumb just barely brushing behind her ear. Asajj swears she'd be angry at the brazen gesture if it wasn't making heat rush through her veins like a wildfire.

"My clan already have their shares of the profit, but I happen to have a pretty fistful of credits in my belt here enough for another round and a decent-sized wager at the massif-baiting pit - or at the swoop bike track," leans close to Asajj's face, her voice gone soft and husky.

"Who knows, I might know a nice quiet place above the smog layer to watch the stars come up - with a comfortable bunk and booze better than the swill here," The hand behind her ear now ever so gently cups the back of her head, teasingly brushing the soft, short hair where her neck and head meet. 

Asajj smirks. Oh, but Mandalorians are such a wonderfully direct people.

She shifts on her barstool, coming in close enough to Bo-Katan's face so that it would only take the tiniest tilt of her head for their lips to meet.

"How about you raise that wager to include a proper room with a real bed infested with fewer bloodmites than what they've got me paying for in the top floor of this shack?"

The sharp nick of Bo-Katan's teeth into her bottom lip is an answer good enough for her.


End file.
